by NJ Moss
It came to me as I stood at the sauna door, looking down at Millie and Jamie, both of them bleeding and near death. I think Millie might already have been dead. I’m not sure. It’s kind of hazy. Hazy Hazel, Millie called me once. I guess she was right.
What I remember very clearly is the plan that unfolded in my mind. I had a choice. I could get a divorce, because there’s no way I’d forgive Jamie for what he did to me. So, a divorce, and all the problems and humiliation that comes along with that.
Or I could let Jamie bleed out. It wasn’t like I was killing him. I was just waiting a few minutes to dial 999.
I am the sole survivor of Millicent Maidstone, one of the most notorious serial killers of all time.
I knew how to market the hell out of the experience. I knew the right selfies to take, the right filters, the right hashtags, the right posts. I knew how to imply I was on the verge of committing suicide, and that faking a drug addiction was a good idea, and that people would cheer me on when I announced I was clean and doing well.
I was ready to take on the world again, yaaaaaas queen, and #Iwontletthemkeepmedown.
I always had it in me to be this person, but I was never able to use my skills to their full extent. Marriage held me back. I wanted to be held back, as long as our marriage was what I thought it was. But it wasn’t. And now I’m soaring.
I’m working with a top ghostwriter to get a book deal. A big publisher is very interested. I mentioned maybe we’d want to hold off until the police’s cases are complete, so the book would cover everything. Using Millie’s memory stick, the police are retracing her wanderings across England, piecing the murders together.
The lady laughed, like I was telling a joke. Darling, you can write more than one book about this.
I laughed and pretended I’d been joking. I told her of course. I’d write a whole library of books about this experience.
Make-up, fashion lines, perfumes, meditation guides, diet and workout apps… I’m going to squeeze every last drop of fame and money from this as I can, and then, once it’s dried-up and not useful to me anymore, I’ll have enough followers and clout to catapult myself into superstardom.
I refuse to feel guilty about using this situation to my advantage. The alternative was to hide away and let other people make money and careers from what happened to me. This way, I’m in control. I’m taking it back, everything Jamie stole from me when he broke our vows and the promises we made.
I can’t even feel guilty about leaving Jamie to bleed out. He knew what he was signing up for.
Total devotion. Unwavering commitment. Forever.
When I woke to find him standing over me in my university bedroom, I should’ve screamed. I should’ve leapt up and scratched him.
But I didn’t.
He was staring at me, seeing me, really seeing me. I’d never been looked at like that before. His glistening emerald eyes pinned me in place, and then he smiled.
He could tell I liked it. I read surprise in his expression, but not a lot of it, not enough for him to stop.
I see you, Hazel Paling. He moved to the bed, getting so close I could feel the heat of him. I see all of you. You’re never invisible with me. Everything you do, everything you are… I’ll always be watching.
I know something’s wrong with me.
Kissing this man, this intruder, yes, it was definitely the wrong thing to do. It probably says a lot about me that we had sex right there, the best sex of my life, before I knew his name or who he was.
But he knew my name. He knew I needed attention, real attention, not the kind everybody else pretended to dish out. He’d first noticed me at an employment event in university, following me for a while, reading my hungry need to be seen.
Later, when he came to me and confessed he’d followed a woman home, I made him swear they’d never see him. They’d never know he existed. He’d never kiss them. He’d never touch them. He’d definitely never fuck them.
I see now how twisted this arrangement was. It was the same thing Mum did with Dad’s cheating, pretending it didn’t exist, lying to herself and saying it didn’t matter as long as he kept it separate from their storybook life.
But I was dead wrong.
What Jamie did was sick, and I was sick for allowing it to happen, for allowing my fear of abandonment to lead me down this dark road. I should have slapped him across the face the moment he told me what he’d done, his puppy-dog eyes pleading with me to accept him for who he was.
I feel more anger trying to burn up inside of me, but it’s not aimed at Millie, not even at Jamie. It’s aimed at myself. These last few months have taught me that relying on other people is one of the stupidest things a person can do. Mum tethered herself to Dad, even when he cheated on her, and it made her bitter and resentful. I relied on Jamie – telling myself we had the perfect marriage, that the façade was the same as the reality – and it led to me getting cheated on, used, ignored.
We never had a perfect marriage; we didn’t even have a good marriage.
We had a perverted connection formed when he stalked me. We had some underwhelming words spoken at a gaudy wedding. We had fear of being alone and complicity in the evil things my husband did. That’s all.
I take another sip, calming myself, and then I hear footsteps walk up behind me.
“Hazel.”
I may not be a teenager anymore, but hearing Kirk freaking Hope say my name sends a shiver up my spine. I’ve been tagging him for years on our shared birthday and he’s never responded. This time, it was him who tagged me. He must’ve seen my earlier posts. Or maybe one of his PR people told him about me.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s here.
I turn with my most alluring smile. I’m dressed modestly, glamorously, and sexily all at once. It’s a combination that should be impossible, but my stylist – my stylist – is incredibly talented.
Kirk offers me his pearly-white smile. He’s wearing a tuxedo and his blond hair is tousled just so. All around us, dozens of cameras capture the moment.
THE END
Acknowledgements
If I tried to list every single person I owe thanks to – who contributed to this novel’s existence in even minor ways – I’d add at least one hundred pages to this book’s length. Which is to say if I miss anybody, I am very, very sorry.
* * *
I have so much gratitude for my editor, Morgen Bailey. Working with her was an absolute pleasure and she made my twisted story so much better.
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Everybody at Bloodhound Books has been professional, welcoming, and all around amazing to work with. Betsy and Fred, the wonderful cover designers, my proofreader, the super-conscientious Tara, social-media guru Maria… all of you have my deepest thanks. This would have been a very different novel if I’d gone it alone, 15k shorter and with much less depth. I’m so grateful to be able to work with such an honest and supportive team.
* * *
Keri Beevis, Patricia Dixon and Heather Fitt deserve a special mention, as always. Without them it would be a much lonelier bookish world.
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I thank my dad, Raymond, for being the silent hero people rarely write books about. I thank my mum, Betsy, for always laughing at my jokes. I thank my brothers, Ben and Jake, for laughing with me in the gym and (Ben) asthma! I thank my dogs, Loki and Gizmo, for being cute and unmanageable and perfect. I thank my friends, James and Marshall and Kane and Joey, for making me laugh and letting me go a little crazy every now and then.
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Lastly, most importantly, I thank my wife. Krystle, without you I never could’ve written a single page, let alone a whole book. You inspire me more and more every day.
A note from the publisher
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.
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We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but somet
imes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.
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